


What have I done

by Jerzeyanjel



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fear, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Sadness, illlness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:30:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerzeyanjel/pseuds/Jerzeyanjel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian's knee deep in an episode and Mickey doesn't know what to do. Post season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What have I done

**Author's Note:**

> Well I'm not one to write things that are heartbreaking or sad but this wouldn't let me go. Sorry!

I’ve failed him. 

There was no other way to say it.

I’ve failed. 

Me, Mickey Milkovich a fucking failure. 

Surprise surprise my father was right. I am a no good failure. I stare off into the street outside my house from my perch on the porch. Ian is inside screaming, crying and throwing any and everything he can get his hands on. I’m not stupid, I ran as soon as he flipped out. I was smart though, I grabbed the lone gun on the table before Ian could grab it. Thank god I had the foresight to hide all the other stuff when Ian first came down with his illness. I was so hopeful back then. 

Hopeful that everything would work out, that he would get better. That I could make him better. 

Sadly I shake my head, soft tears running down my face. 

“Mickey Milkovich doesn’t cry,” I bark at myself and wipe angrily at my face. 

All I wanted … all I want is for Ian to get better. I miss my firecrotch. I miss his sunny smile and his happy moods. I miss the longing looks he would shoot at me from across the room when he thought I wasn’t looking. I miss his kisses, his voice murmuring how much he loves me when he thought I was sleeping. I miss his arms around me, I miss him sitting next to me. I miss his warmth and his … god! His everything. 

I miss my Gallagher. 

A sob shakes my body and I shudder as another sob is torn from my throat. My whole life has been filled with fear. Fear of my dad, fear of my brothers, fear of what I am. And this boy, this man with his vibrant red hair and his unfathomable green eyes pops into my life and turns it completely upside down. 

That alone terrifies me. 

He represents everything I could be, everything I could have and it makes me so scared. So fucking scared of him. But more afraid of myself. Afraid of what he makes me feel. 

Love wasn’t something I was given, nor was it something I was allowed to feel. But Ian, Ian makes me feel safe. It’s like he dug deep and hard into my chest and found the little seed of love that was hidden inside me. He grabbed it and he held onto it, filling it with his warmth and his emotions until it blossomed inside me and made me see everything he had already been trying to show me. 

A loud crash rumbles through the house behind me and Ian screams long and full of anger. A part of me wants to run to him, to pull him against my body and hold him there until his mood passes. Hold him down if necessary and shout into his face how I feel about him until he calms down. But I’ve done that, I’ve done it all. I’ve said the three words. I’ve said them full of calm. I’ve said them full of anger. I’ve said them full of love and longing and I’ve said them out of fear. But nothing has gotten through to him. 

Sometimes I can see a spark of my Ian in his eyes. The Ian I love so much that it kills me. It makes me feel alive and I want to savor the spark and hold it tight. And sometimes my Ian is nowhere to be found as if this illness has hidden him away. 

Another crash sounds and my eyes drop to the gun sitting next to me. I know without touching it that the feel of the metal will be cold and comforting in my hand. My finger on the trigger would make me wake up and focus on what is in front of me. Another part wants to take the gun and press it to my temple and end this. End this hurt and this torment. 

But what good am I to Ian if I am dead? What if he is the one who finds me? How much more will that fuck him up? I shake my head, clearing the images that are there and throw the gun away from me angrily. Of all the things said about me selfish is not one of them and I would never leave a mess for Ian to clean up. 

No matter what!

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I grab it. It’s a text from Fiona, asking how Ian is. Asking how I am. 

I want to chuck the phone away from me, to pretend she didn’t ask but I don’t. To pretend that none of this is happening.

More tears find themselves trailing down my cheeks as I dial her number. 

“Mickey?” she answers. 

I try to stop crying, to control the sobbing but it’s futile. 

“Fiona. I need you to come here,” I get out between sobs. 

“Is Ian ok?” she practically screams in my ear. 

I start laughing, a hysterical round of giggling that I know is scaring the hell out of Fiona but I don’t care. 

“No Ian’s not ok,” I say the laughter dying down and being replaced by tears once again. “It’s time. I think he needs to go to the hospital.”

I can almost see Fiona nodding as she says ok and hangs up. 

I stand and look at my front door knowing what I’ll face when I go inside. Knowing that I will be the focus of Ian’s anger and I hang my head. This is for him, this is for Ian. He needs more help than I can give. My good isn’t enough, he needs more. 

I gather my courage and fling open the front door. The house is a mess, trash and broken things everywhere. My eyes frantically search for Ian and find him on the couch tucked into a ball, crying. 

“Mick?” he calls for me and I run to him. 

“I’m here Ian. I’m right here,” I say my fingers in his hair and my arms around him. 

“Don’t leave me,” he begs pulling at my shirt, trying to get me closer to him. 

“Never. I’ll never leave you,” I whisper and press a kiss to his forehead.


End file.
